Unsure
by AllieCat135
Summary: I still remember. I still remember everything. You stood up there, and you stared into my eyes. You were lying. That was your lying face. You're a bloody terrible liar.
1. Unsure

_I hate when it gets dark. It seems like as the day slowly dims, I miss you more. I miss your smile, and your laugh, your weirdness and your utter craziness. I miss everything about you. I never imagined I'd be here. I never imagined a man could change me so much. You changed me so much, though. More than I ever thought possible. I still, just barely, remember what it felt like before you... before you... I can't even think it. I can't say it, I can't write it down. _

_You can't be gone. But you are. I just want to be with you again. I want you back here with me, but I know it'll never happen. You're gone. I still feel like you're going to walk back through the door. I still wake up expecting to hear you playing downstairs. I often pour two cups of coffee out of habit. My mind just won't let me forget. I'm not sure if any of this even existed at all, I mean, what if all of this was just a figment of a PTSD soldier's imagination. I don't have the answers to all these questions. How do I begin again? I don't know. All I know right now is I'm unsure. _

_The nights are so lonely, and so much colder without you. I can't bring myself to go into your room, where I spent nearly every night. I can't force myself to go into that room. I want to, as if laying in the bed we shared would fix something in me. But I can't even step inside. _

_Why did you do this? What made you do this? What did Moriarty say? What the hell happened, Sherlock? I've never felt like this before in my life. I've never had to say goodbye like this, never been so attached to someone and then had them ripped away from me. _

_Are you still here, somehow? Is this another one of your games? Please let this be a game. Please let this end soon. I need you back home. I'm going out of my head and out of my mind and I can barely think without you with me. The silence of this place is killing me. I miss your phone going off every two seconds. I miss your fast rambling speech and your cruel sarcasm and your stupid nicotine patches. I miss you, I miss you so much. _

_I still remember. I still remember everything. You stood up there, and you stared into my eyes. You were lying. That was your lying face. You're a bloody terrible liar. You were not a fake. You were never a fake. Never. How could you have known everything you did? _

_I wish you'd have just told me. I told you I'd always be there for you. Did you ever believe that? You must've. I'm still holding out hope, whatever little I might have left in me. You have to come back. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, if only you'd come back._

_You're the love of my life, Sherlock. I wanted to grow old with you. _

_Please don't be gone._

_-JW_


	2. Yes?

Black marble. Two words. _Sherlock Holmes._ There wasn't even a date, or a personal message. Just your name. It was like you though, and I can tell you would've like it, but I'm not sure many people would like their own headstone. I sat down on the grass beside it, quickly realising you'd had visitors earlier. Molly, I'd assume. Bright pink roses, so sickly. You'd have hated them, but it was the thought that counted. I think Anderson had been here at some point too. He cared about you more than he let on, you know. Must've been Anderson, judging by the size 12-ish footprints left in the mud. The Science of Deduction isn't entirely dead, Sherlock.

Flowers wouldn't bring you back. Nothing could. But there was a peice of me that was still hoping. Hoping for some kind of miracle. The chances of it happening were slim though.

I traced the gold inlayed 'S' with my thumb, not entirely sure what I was doing. I felt closer to you, when I was there. It was peaceful in that place. I'd never have thought so, what with it being filled with rotting corpses. But it was. Something about the atmosphere. I don't know.

"John." A voice came from behind me, and I almost didn't hear it. It was Lestrade. Doing his usual 'check on the grieving gay man' routine. If it were anyone else I would've just upped and left. He genuinely cared, it wasn't just pity for a change.

"Lestrade." I said back, not looking up.

"How are... things?" He said, trailing off by the end.

"How do you think, Greg. Just fucking wonderful. It's all fucking rainbows and sunshine."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and I almost thought that he'd left entirely.

"I'm sorry, John." He said finally, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"It's fine." I told him, quietly dissolving into tears once again.

Lestrade sat down beside me and taking my hand he placed a small velvet box in it.

"From the... scene. He wanted you to have it. Got your name on it and everything."

I opened the box, the kind you get a ring in from the jewelery. No ring in here though. Just a peice of paper, that had '_John' _scrawled on it. I pulled it out, and turned it over to find _'under the skull.' _

"What the hell...?" I mumbled to myself, not realising I'd said it aloud.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked me, his hand still on my shoulder.

"Nothing. I have to go." I replied, quickly getting up

"John!" Lestrade called after me, but it was no use. I wasn't going back there. I had to find whatever it was that he'd hidden under the skull. Was it a sign from him, that he was okay? Probably not, but that's what I was going with.

He used to hide things under the skull. I could hardly count how often I would be able to find ciggarettes under that thing. He knew that I knew his hiding place, yet he continued to keep putting things there anyway. The prick probably did it to annoy me. Actually now I thought about it I was sure.

I stumbled down the hallway of 221B, almost breaking my neck on all of the 'important' piles of stuff left laying around everywhere. It was organised of course, but the problem was that nobody knew how the hell it was organised. To anyone but Sherlock it was just pile upon pile of junk. I kicked stuff out of the way, and half ran over to the mantle over the fire.

It had no eyes and yet it stared at me with the most powerful intensity. I pulled the little velveteen box from my coat, and flipped it over and over in my hand. _'Under the skull.' _I saw as I opened it.

What was I afraid of? What was under that skull that had me as frightened as a mouse.

There was no point in procrastinating further -I knew this already- but it was as if there was some kind of invisible force field around the little skull.

Tentatively, I walked forward and placed my hand on the top of the skull. There was nothing strange or unusual about it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I lifted it, and underneath was another box, exactly the same as the first one. I picked it up, looking hard at it. Slowly I flipped the lid, and found another note.

_'Yes? -SH'_ it read, and I was confused once again. I picked up the paper and underneath it was a gold ring. Simple, understated, but beautiful. wide band with a tiny diamond in the top right corner. He proposed.

"Yes." I said, as I sat on the living room floor and cried.


End file.
